


we watched the day go by; stories of all we did

by finestnialls



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, a little smut, college sweethearts now living out their perfect life, daddy!harry, daddy!niall, lots of fluff, what a wonderful combination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 21:11:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/996754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finestnialls/pseuds/finestnialls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newlyweds Harry and Niall are adjusting to parenting, and finding it much harder than they thought it'd be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we watched the day go by; stories of all we did

**Author's Note:**

> this began as a series of drabbles about the two experiencing parenthood, but i decided to give them a common theme and put them in a story. the title comes from the song 'wings' by birdy.

“She’s only a baby.”

  
Harry murmurs into plush blond hair as his arms curl tighter around a slender figure, his chin resting on a broad shoulder. There are stars in his eyes and his cherry lips can’t help but to stay in a prideful curve, quivering just slightly as his eyes begin to water for the fourth – scratch that, fifth – time that day. The shorter boy in his grip tips his head up to get a good look at him and flashes the bright smile Harry’s come to fall in love with. He brushes his nose along Harry’s sculpted jawline before pressing a few gentle kisses to the skin.

  
“She’s our baby,” Niall says, voice quiet as if speaking any louder would hurt or wake her, “our little girl, Haz.” And she looks so peaceful, sleeping soundly behind the glass, her small, dimpled hands curled to fists by her head. Something about the sight of her stomach slowly rising and falling sends shivers through them like shockwaves; she’s alive, she’s healthy, and she’s theirs.

  
They never thought that this was what would become of two university sweethearts – gone from studying anatomy together under their favorite tree on campus and holding each other at football games, to meeting parents and exchanging vows, to viewing their very own daughter, tugging heartstrings. They weren’t complaining about the way things turned out, of course; they couldn’t be happier. A collective dream found a giving teenage mother with too much weight on her shoulders and produced this beautiful reality, and they wouldn’t change it for the world.

  
“All ours,” Harry confirms, ducking his head down to press a lingering kiss to Niall’s smooth lips. He spreads his thin fingers across the older boy’s stomach, pressing into the fabric of his shirt, and Niall’s hand makes its way to rest on top of his. Their fingers interlock and the cold metal of one ring clinks almost silently against the other. “I love you.”

 

-

 

“She’s only a baby!”

  
Harry gives a hushed shout as he dashes across the room to fumble with Niall’s phone. It’s hooked up to the stereo and has only just begun blaring some lyrics about the illuminati and penises with a heavy bass background that’s shaking the vases in the room. He’s always thought of this as noise but for some reason his husband views it as a form of art. And while he’s not opposed to their daughter becoming familiar with different styles of art while she’s this young (to make her more intelligent in the future or something, he read it in a parenting book from his mum), he’d rather she didn’t know anything about ‘making it rain’ or ‘fucking bitches’.

  
“No, don’t turn that off!” Niall protests, dropping the large cardboard box in his hands to go and stop Harry from cutting his music off. After six months living in Harry’s bedroom at his parents’ house in Cheshire, they’d finally been able to make ends meet and rent out a cozy little flat just outside of London, where the younger boy’s school was. The last week had been spent settling in and unpacking with the supervision of their growing little girl in her bouncer. She may only be there to watch the cartoons that played and sleep while they worked, but she’s part of the team.

  
“It’s garbage, Niall,” Harry says, skipping to the next song before Niall can smack his hand away. The blond lets out a groan and folds his arms stubbornly across his chest, leaning against the wall beside the entertainment center. “Emma doesn’t need to hear all of those bad words.” He looks content with himself now that his favorite Arctic Monkeys song is streaming and it makes Niall roll his cerulean eyes.

  
“Oh really? Was it garbage when we first met?” the Irish boy challenges. At that moment Harry resents everything he’s done or said in the past two minutes because now Niall’s closing in with that deliciously irritating smirk on his mouth.

  
He remembers that night four years ago in a packed dorm where an apprehensive eighteen year old met a bold second year student who offered him a drink. One beer turned to five shots turned to three vodkas and soon enough this trash became music to Harry’s ears as he lost himself in the beat and his rising BAC.

  
“I was right pissed off whatever was in that cup you kept giving me,” Harry wastes no time in correcting him, ivy orbs narrowed into slits, “so don’t even.”

  
“You weren’t saying all this when you were grinding all over me.” Niall’s arms find a comfortable position around his husband’s neck, that damned smirk still present. It’s Harry’s turn to roll his eyes as he rests his arms loosely around the shorter boy’s waist. He wants to play it cool and pretend he has no clue what he’s on about, but the shocking rose color of his cheeks gives him away. “And you used a whole bunch of those bad words.”

  
“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” he begins, skin burning brighter as Niall starts pressing wet little kisses to his neck.

  
“Now put it back on that song and show me how you did it that night.”

 

-

 

“She’s only a baby.”

  
Harry sneers down into his cereal bowl. Niall pauses where he stands to shoot a glare in his direction; he isn’t in the mood for his smug comments. He’s kneeling in front their baby’s highchair, a mouthful of pureed carrots coating his face and t-shirt (one of Harry’s band shirts that’s covered in a series of stains – from milk vomit to rejected mashed dinners). Breakfast time was always a time of experimentation with Emma. They learned that she absolutely hated any vegetable they tried to feed her, but fruits and oatmeal were always accepted. But after a morning full of chasing her around the flat to get a diaper on her and having his face scratched by miniscule nails, Niall isn’t trying to fuck around with her right now.

  
“Say it again,” he warns, determination in his expression. He spoons more of the orange mush onto the spoon and brings it to Emma’s plush maroon lips. “Say it again and see what happens, Horan.”

  
The twenty-two year old obviously finds pleasure in the situation, chuckling as he feeds himself his second bowl of Special K. “She’s only a baby.”  
Niall takes another round of carrots to the face, earning a loud cackle from Harry. The blond palms at the mess on his skin before turning to the boy at the island, shaking his head. “So that’s how it’s gonna be?” he reaches for the Gerber’s jar on Emma’s tray, taking the spoon out and setting it on the marble surface of the island. Harry’s eyes widen and he scoots his stool away, putting his hands up in defense.

 

“Watch what you do with those carrots, Ni,” he threatens, but before he can get another word out, the warm slush is dripping from his hair to his eyes.  
“Emma! Did you see what daddy did to me?” Harry stands up now, looking at his daughter in shock. “He’s going to wish he hadn’t.” He takes steps toward the older lad, and with every one he takes forward, Niall takes two backward.

  
“Harry don’t! Harry! No!”

  
Harry snatches him up in his arms and smashes the excess from his head onto that of his husband, ignoring his squeals and squirming. He’s about to yell and Harry’s about to apologize, but the melodious sound of tiny giggling pauses everything. Emma’s messy cheeks are glowing and her sparse collection of teeth is enough to send her fathers into a fit of laugher themselves.

  
“God dammit, Harry. Perfect asshole.”

 

-

 

“She’s only a baby.”

  
Harry mutters to himself when things get hard. She’s only a baby, and she can’t tell him what’s wrong. Emma’s sick and you couldn’t pay the boys to remember when the last time any of them had a full night of sleep was.

  
He’s pacing through the living room, patting and rubbing her back while she screams her lungs out, the most painful cry he’s ever heard. He knows she’s in pain and he knows she’s burning up but he doesn’t know how to fix it. Maybe he could call Niall’s mother just once more that night –

  
“Shit,” Niall sputters from the kitchen. He’s trying to pour formula into one of his daughter’s bottles but his hand is shaking too much and he’s spilling powder all over the counter. He sniffles and wipes his nose with the sleeve of his hoodie, a particular distressed shriek from Emma making him jump and drop the bottle onto the floor. Stress has been building up for days on end and he’s not sure how much more he can take before he’ll need to ask Harry to take him to a therapist. He brings his hands up to cover his face. He can’t cry, not right now.

  
Though Niall doesn’t know it, Harry can see the spectacle from the archway that separates the two rooms, and it breaks his heart. Niall hates crying in front of people, for one thing, and for another, he hasn’t been stressed out over anything since exams during his last year of school. Seeing their little girl sick is taking a huge toll on him.

  
“Hey, baby, calm down,” Harry whispers, shifting the wailing infant to one arm and bringing his other around his husband. “It’s alright, yeah? She’s going to be okay. We’re all going to be okay.”

  
Niall lets his eyelids drop and a small sob rips through him as he curls into the taller boy’s body, burying his face in his chest. He clutches Harry’s shirt and will never forgive himself for making him coax two crying babies, but he can’t stop weeping now. Harry doesn’t seem to mind; it makes him feel important.

  
“Shh,” he whispers into Niall’s ruffled locks, “I’ve got you. I’ve got both of you.”

 

-

 

“She’s only a baby.”

  
Harry sighs as he stills himself, looking down at the man beneath him. His sweaty curls fall into his eyes and he combs them back before returning his arms either side of Niall, holding himself up. “She’ll cry herself out any minute.”

  
It’s the first night that they’ve had alone in ages, but an agitated toddler across the hall is putting this night closer and closer to a rain check. Niall takes the moment to catch his breath, wriggling in discomfort at the feeling of his husband simply lying there idle, the pleasure stalled.

  
“Just… j-just come on, keep going then,” he says, hands grasping the back of Harry’s neck and pulling him down, capturing his swollen mouth in a heated kiss. It intensifies quickly as Harry starts moving his hips again; the sound of a restless tot replaced with impassioned moans and whimpers. Emma’s hollering soon dies down as Harry predicted, and with Niall’s short nails digging into his shoulders, he pushes himself harder and faster to a silent command.

  
Niall leans his head back and arches his spine, pleased noises pouring from his throat with every passing second. Harry takes advantage of the space and ducks down to kiss and suck dark bruises into milky skin, letting out groans against each mark. The ecstasy he feels takes him back to the first time he’d ever had Niall like this. They were so vulnerable, young, caught up in each other. And while they still were, they now had more responsibilities and less time for this. Every moment needed to last, every thrust needed to count.

  
He brings a large hand up and grips the headboard, the other wrapped securely around his husband’s thigh. It enables him to slam himself deeper into him, earning loud keens that make his blood boil in the best possible way. He laps one last circle at Niall’s jaw before shutting his eyes tighter and tipping his head back. He won’t last much longer; Niall’s heat is still tight and inviting even after all these years.

  
“Oh, fuck, Harry,” the bottom coos, hands exploring the top’s broad, extensive back. Goosebumps are rising along his spine and before long; his orgasm is coursing through him, tearing a near scream from his chest. The constriction causes Harry to gasp and soon enough, he’s spurting deep inside of him. The long waiting release was more than expected.

  
The room quiets down, their soft panting rising to the ceiling. Niall’s fingers smooth over the angry red lines across Harry’s shoulder blades and he moves his lips slowly with his, huffing his breath like a drug and releasing his own.

  
“I missed you,” he whispers, meeting his husband’s eyes. They’re a heavy ivy but still bright in the dark of the room.

  
“I missed you more,” Harry replies, pulling himself out and rolling to lie beside him. “I told you she’d go back to –“

  
As if on cue, minute whimpers begin to radiate from Emma’s room, until the flat is clogged with her desperate sniveling. Niall raises an eyebrow but keeps a smile, pinching Harry’s flushed cheeks. “You were saying?”

  
The younger boy exhales in defeat and sits up, kicking the duvet off of his legs. “Well I was right for a bit.”

  
Before he can get out of bed, however, Niall pulls him back down with a gentle hand on his shoulder. He places a soft kiss to his salty forehead and gets out of bed, wincing at the pain in his rear. He grabs his boxers and pulls them on, wipes himself off, then limps his way over to the bedroom door. “I’ve got her. Round two when I get back?” he winks.

  
Another scream slashes through the air.

  
“If I get back.”

 

-

 

“She’s only a baby.”

  
Harry groans as he drags his hands down his face. He still doesn’t understand why he justifies everything the toddler does with this phrase, but with cake all up and through the flat, he doesn’t know what else to say to keep calm. Their backyard and common room are full of guests who wouldn’t want to see him lose his temper. His family, Niall’s family, their mutual friends – he needs to impress them all. Plus, he couldn’t possibly scold Emma today of all days. It’s her birthday after all. If she wants to get hot pink frosting on damn near every piece of furniture, then they have to let her.

  
Niall’s scooped her up and is holding her away from his body as he carries her upstairs to change her sugar coated clothes. All of the guests seemed to think it was the cutest thing watching her fling her cake everywhere that wasn’t her mouth. “Babies will be babies,” Harry’s grandmother had said. And grandmothers will be asked to leave if they don’t stop talking about it, Harry couldn’t help but think.

  
He gets to work moving her mounds of presents aside to wipe up chunks of dessert from the carpet before they can stain. His sister offers to help and he immediately accepts, pointing her to the closet beneath the stairs where the cleaning supplies are kept. Niall’s mother and his own take charge of making sure the guests are entertained out back with the barbeque – the boys couldn’t be more thankful.

  
Niall finally returns with a clean Emma in his arms, adjusting the tiny princess tiara nestled in her caramel curls. He’s changed her into a new black dress and sandals, and she’s the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen in his life. He brings her down the stairs and instead of putting her down, he’s stopped by a smiling curly-haired boy coming toward them. Harry sets a very used towel and carpet cleaner down, then drops a sweet kiss onto his daughter’s head.

  
“There’s the messy birthday girl,” he smiles, “and her pretty, pretty dress.” Sometimes, when looking at her, he still can’t believe that she’s theirs. This gorgeous little baby girl, is their child. And he’s so blessed.

  
“How’s everything going?” Niall asks, worry in his beryl irises. “She didn’t make too much of a mess, did she?”

  
Harry shakes his head, veering down to kiss love into Niall’s smile. “Nothing I can’t handle. Everyone’s out back.” Niall nods satisfactorily at this, taking the tall boy’s hand, lacing their fingers and being led to the garden.

  
“I can’t believe it’s been a year, you know?” he looks up at Harry, shifting Emma on his hip. “We’ve had this little angel for a year. That’s crazy, right?”

  
“It’s crazy, but it’s perfect.” Another peck is placed on Niall’s mouth. “One of the most exciting years of my life.”

 

-

 

“Emma, no!”

  
Harry shrills, setting the yellow sippy cup down and dashing into the living room. He snatches the tube of paint from her dimpled hand and picks her up, looking her over in distress. She’s covered in an array of greens, browns, reds, from head to toe and Harry swears he only left her alone for a minute, if that. He tears his gaze away from her and settles it on a sight that shatters him – the large canvas on the easel by the window is drenched in tiny hand prints, brush strokes, and paint splatters that he knows he did not make. If seeing his exam for his Portraiture II class ruined wasn’t enough, there’s puddles and smears of oil all over the floor and coffee table. He closes his eyes.

  
Of course, Emma has no knowledge that she’s done anything wrong, so she continues to play in the paint that’s on her clothes, smearing some on her father’s face while he stays perfectly frozen. She giggles, but Harry purses his lips tightly.

  
That’s when the front door to the flat opens and closes, keys being dropped on marble sounding in Harry’s ears. Niall shrugs off his jacket and unpins his nametag from his sweater. He’d had to cover a fellow employee’s shift down at the warehouse and couldn’t wait to come home to his favorite people. Once his shoes are toed off he follows the sound of the television to the lounge, where he stops in his tracks.

  
“Oh, shit,” he murmurs, clapping his hand over his mouth at the display. Harry’s back is to him but he already has an idea of what his face must look like. Emma looks over at the sound of her dad’s voice and smiles proudly, waving her dripping hands around. Niall begins to snicker beneath his palm.

  
Harry turns around slowly and studies his husband, shaking his head in warning. “Don’t. Don’t you dare.”

  
Niall’s hand slides down and he folds his arms, leaning against the archway. He runs his languid tongue along his lower lip and opens his mouth daringly, cheeky grin present.

  
“She’s only a baby.”


End file.
